


Soft Ground To Lay My Anchor

by teshumai



Category: Hockey RPF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:12:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teshumai/pseuds/teshumai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half-way through a disappointing season Claude is traded. He's not exactly sure why Pittsburgh wants him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a work of fiction and not intend to be representative of actual persons sharing names which appear in this work.

He always knew this day was coming.  On the day Claude first got the C, Pronger had invited him into his dimly lit home and poured him a glass of whisky with a grim set to his mouth.

“They shouldn’t have given it to you, kid,” he’d finally said.

Claude bit back the automatic retorts: he’s not a kid, he’s the best player on the team, it’s not like Pronger was doing such a hot job.

“You’re not ready, a couple more years maybe, you’d have been great. But…Holgram’s an idiot, he’s trying to have his very own Crosby.  I love you kid, you’re crazy talented but, you’re no Crosby.”

“I can do it,” Claude tried to sound sure, to not let the comparison bother him. Everyone gets compared to Crosby, especially in Philly. Richie got it all the time and Carts would do this little head shake snort thing every time.

Pronger had just looked sad, “No, you can’t.  They’re going to eat you alive.”

 He was right. 

The funny part about how it all went down was that Claude didn’t actually hate Crosby. He barely knew Crosby, hadn’t spent more than probably an hour with him off the ice. Richie was the one who liked talking shit. Though Claude wasn’t honestly sure if Richie actually hated Crosby or just thought it was fun. Either way, once he was gone all the attention shifted to Claude and the responsibility to keep the animosity going with it.  Crosby seemed to actually hate him though, which was kind of sad because, well, it’s _Sidney Crosby_ , _Hockey Legend,_ and Claude used to imagine how amazing playing with him would be. While Claude would like very much to claim that he did nothing to deserve Crosby’s hated, that’s not entirely true.  He’s apparently rather short career with the Flyers included some less then totally legal hits and possibly not very sportsmen like chirps. So he can’t really say he didn’t deserve Crosby’s anger, but Claude maybe sort of regrets that somehow shit between them got personal.

It wasn’t a huge deal before, so Crosby hated him, it wasn’t the end of the world.  And ok, it kind of sucked that apparently Crosby and Richie are cool now, but Claude was still the bad guy, but whatever, that’s life. Claude doesn’t need Crosby’s approval or anything. Except well, he might. 

Claude’s not an idiot and the writing was pretty clearly up on the wall and he’s seen this show before.  He’s on his way out. He’s not performing, the team’s not performing, the vultures are circling and they want someone to blame. 

That’s how he finds himself back in the Pronger house two years later, still barely lit, drinking the same whisky.

“I ever tell you why I came to the Flyers,” Pronger asks sipping his water.

“Cause we used to be playoff material?”

“That was part of it, would have been nice to get that ring, but mostly I came here for Mike.”

“What do you mean?”

“They brought me in because I’m old, thought I could help Mike lead the team to a cup or two. I liked the kid, he was different. Didn’t have the talent you got, but he had something.  I thought I could be like a mentor, figured that would be a legacy worth leaving.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No, I am, I couldn’t be that for either of you.”

“I wasn’t a very good captain.”

“No, you not a leader.”

Claude has to shallow the hurt that bubbles up. It’s true but, Pronger didn’t have to say it.

“You’re the star, Claude, not the captain. Wherever you end up, show them how great a star you can be.”

Claude nods and finishing his drink. They sit in silence for a long minute.

“Rumors are saying Pittsburg.”

Pronger nods consideringly, “You might like it there.”

Claude doubts that but, it’s not like his opinion will count for much, so he shifts the subject back to Philly “What do think will happen here, once I’m gone?”

“If Holgram’s smart he’ll make Scott captain, but probably it’ll be Sean or Luke and in two years they’ll be drinking my whisky talking about the rumors out of Dallas or Montreal.”

“It’s good whisky.”

“Only the best for my little ex-Flyers,” Pronger smiles and pours Claude another glass.

 

The trades come in three weeks before the deadline, Claude Giroux, the train wreck from Philadelphia and a draft pick in exchange for Beau Bennett, Pittsburg’s darling. Suffice to say, it was not a popular trade. Shero shrugs when Claude mentions it.

“I make a lot of unpopular decisions. That’s what they pay me for.”

“Yeah, but are you sure about this one,” Claude doesn’t mean to sound self-deprecating but judging by the look he gets from Shero he doesn’t succeed.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

 

He comes at a good time, the team has three-ish days between games and he doesn’t have his first practice until tomorrow afternoon, so he has a day to settle into the hotel room. It reminds him of that first year in Philadelphia before anyone was sure he’d be around for the long haul, before Danny offered him a home. The longing hits him harder than usual. He wants to go back. He wants his room behind the den back, even if he hasn’t lived in it for three years, even if it was technically Sean’s last.  He misses it, misses Danny. He’s been at a loss, cut loose and floundering ever since Danny went to Montreal. He still is, washing up in Pittsburg like drift wood, and a part of him still waiting for the tide to take him away again.

Lemieux comes to take him to practice, apparently he likes to be involved. At least that’s the explanation he gives Claude. Claude has his own suspicions, which are largely confirmed when they get to the rink and Crosby attempts to ignore him until a pointed cough from Lemieux gets him to grudgingly hold out his hand.

“Welcome to the Penguins.”

“Thanks, I…” Claude begins, but Crosby is already moving past him and the rest of the team follows his lead. Claude doesn’t necessarily want to be back in Philly, but just about anywhere seems preferable to Pittsburgh.  

On the ice Crosby is nothing but professional, no unnecessary checks, no “accidental” pucks hitting him, nothing.  Some of the other guys are less good about that, but one look from Crosby and they quickly stop. By the end of practice Crosby as succeeded in making everyone ignore Claude unless they have to pass to him. Claude isn’t sure if that’s better or not. Suffice to say practice is a disaster. Claude has no chemistry with the team and feels like shit by the time he’s pulling his skates off, head down ignoring everyone right back.

He’s the first to leave. It’s surprising how quickly you can get changed when you’re not distracted by your teammates.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Kenarik for beta-ing for me, you are amazing :)  
> All mistakes here on out are my own and as always if you alert me to them I will fix them when I post the next chapter.

Claude feels like a ghost haunting the Consol Energy Center. He comes and goes and no one notices as he sinks further into himself. It was less then month ago that he was in Philadelphia, surrounded by people nudging and smiling at him. It’s been less than a month since Wayne rested a hand on his shoulder and said “Don’t worry, I got your back.” Claude feels like he’s forgetting what that kind of camaraderie felt like. He isn’t forgetting what it looks like. 

The locker room usually divides itself naturally into smaller groups of three to five players who are actually friends, who would probably still be friends even without hockey. Mike had his group of bar crawlers, Pronger had the veterans, and Claude, himself, had mostly spent his time with the “beer and videogames on the couch” crew. The Penguins locker room isn’t any different. Neal and Martin always have their heads bent together, usually dragging Malkin and Kunitz into their plans. The Francophones seem to gravitate to each other, chatting in quick French, and the rookies huddle together wide-eyed even two thirds of the way through the season. The Penguins aren’t different from the Flyers, but Crosby is. Crosby doesn’t belong to any of the groups; he has his small group which is made up of at least one person from each of the others. It’s brilliant, and watching them Claude is pretty sure it isn’t calculated. They all genuinely care for Crosby and he genuinely cares for them, and then, in addition, he gets to stay aware of everything going on with his team.

It’s terrible, but the more Claude watches Crosby, the more he admires him, the more he wants to be part of this team that seems so happy together, but Crosby still doesn’t want him. He keeps up the icing, and keeps the rest of the team away from Claude as much as possible. If it was happening to anyone else it might be funny how Crosby insists on being present when Claude, Sutter, and Glass talk about their line, like he needs to protect them from Claude. Mostly it just sucks.

\--

Considering how Holgram can clean a house when the chips are down, it is actually surprising it takes this long for Claude to play an ex-teammate. He isn’t sure if it’s good or bad that it’s Danny he’ll be facing first. They don’t see each other before the game and they don’t talk during it, even when they face off. Claude doesn’t really know what to think about that, what it means that Danny isn’t talking to him. It throws him off his game, not that anyone really notices; his game has been off for going on four months now. 

The Penguins win. It’s an easy one too, 5 to 2 with a hat trick for Crosby. Claude didn’t contribute much to that, but he didn’t detract from it either and he’ll take his small victories where he can find them. He doesn’t really know what to expect from the handshake line, considering the game, so when Danny grabs his hand and pulls him in for a hug he is honestly surprised, and stupidly overwhelmed. They’re on the ice in front of thousands of strangers and he’s not sure he isn’t about to start crying into Danny’s shoulder. 

Danny pulls back and smiles “Have dinner with me, I’ll cook something, we’ll catch up.”

Claude nods, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

\--

Things actually start to get better after that. Not with Crosby or most of the team but overall life starts to work out again. Claude is playing better then he has in months. The system in Pittsburgh works for him and Bylsma has a looser way of running practice then Laviolette or Berube. Claude finds himself with time to just mess around with the puck. He might be alone, but he doesn’t actually need someone to practice passing of the walls. 

He goes out with old teammates whenever they play against each other. It’s not quite the same as being part of the team but it’s much less lonely then he’d been. 

One day Scuderi sits next to him on the plane. He doesn’t say anything, just sits down and opens a book on tropical fish. It becomes a thing. Claude has no idea what caused it but Scuds seems to have decided to like Claude. They don’t really talk much though Scuderi jokes with some of the other guys. It’s new for Claude to be the quiet one on the team. Scott had joked that Claude talked more in one month as captain then Richie and Pronger had in their entire runs combined. He doesn’t want to ruin the one relationship he’s got though so he stays quiet.

Scuds starts joining him in screwing around on the ice. He just slides in one day and steals the puck off the wall. Claude chases him down, of course. It’s exhilarating, playing keep away with another person, just for fun. Games are great and playing with the wall if fine, but god Claude missed this. There’s no pressure to keep the puck or play defensively, and Scuds moves, does things Claude wasn’t expecting, forces him to react-to think. It’s fun. Claude can try whatever comes to his mind to get around Scuds and if doesn’t work, if he loses the puck, it doesn’t matter. He makes some pretty fucking fantastic moves, though.

Three days later Olli approaches him at the end of practice. “Can you, if it’s not too much trouble, will you stay and work with me.”

“Um, yeah, of course, um are you sure you don’t want to ask Crosby?”

Olli shakes his head, “I want to work with you.”

Claude isn’t about to look this gift horse in the mouth, “Sure, what did you want to work on?”

“I want to take the puck from you.”

Claude smiles, “Well, you can try.”

Olli asks again the next day, and the day after, and the one after that until it becomes a thing, after practice every day playing keep away with Olli. 

It doesn’t take Crosby particularly long to catch on. He corners Claude in the hallway before practice, they’re about the same height but Crosby’s a lot boarder and he uses that box Claude in.

“What are you doing with Olli?”

“We’re just practicing. He’s a good kid, works hard.”

“Yeah he is.” Crosby tries to sound menacing, but it’s not really working for him and Claude knows it’s probably a bad idea but he can’t help himself.

“Oh, Crosby, are you worried one of your baby rookies might like me better?”

“No-I-" Crosby flushes red, it’s actually rather amusing and Claude is probably smirking, which is probably bad but, fuck it. Claude is kind of sick of being frozen out of the team and all the good behavior in the world hasn’t fixed anything. He likes Olli, Olli seems to like him, and he misses this part of being captain, misses helping the new kids. Fuck Crosby, Claude deserves to have friends too. “Just don’t do anything to hurt his career, or…. “

“Or?” Claude asked raising an eyebrow, he’d spent an entire summer learning that trick and he’s never regretted it.

“Just don’t.” Crosby snaps before storming off.

\--

The home game against the Lightning might be the best game of Claude’s season. For once everything is working, Glass, Sutter, and Claude are clicking like a Vulcan mind meld. Their line has the only two goals on the Pens side keeping the game tied into the third period. It’s a good game overall too. The top lines might not be scoring but that’s only because Bishop and Fleury are on fire. It’s fast paced and clean. It’s hockey like hockey should always be. Then Kunitz goes down after a hard check from Kucherov and he doesn’t get up. Everything goes downhill from there.

Claude has never seen the Penguins disintegrate from this end before. He was a Flyer, he knows about this particular weakness. The Pens are a formidable team without Crosby, and they are a deadly team with him, but if you can get him off his game, they’ll follow without a second thought. It’s the best, if morally questionable, strategy against a Crosby led Pens: get him frustrated, get him angry, get under his skin, make him desperate and reckless and watch him drag his team down with him. 

Crosby is pissed after the hit, Claude is intimately familiar with Crosby’s pissed off face, and even he is a little scared. Kunitz’s ankle did something bad, but they don’t know how bad yet, and Crosby is pretty clearly angry about more injuries to his already beleaguered team. He goes after Kucherov, and then Purcell, and Palat. Malkin slams into St. Louis. The Lightning are getting angry too, but every time Claude is sure one of them is going to start shoving St. Louis is there with a “they’re not worth it,” “we can win this,” “do you want the cup or do you want to be the idiot that gave them the power play.”

Claude can see the moment when Olli decides to join in. He can see the shift that happens when people decide on revenge over strategy. It’s stupid to get involved, it’s probably going to bad for Olli in the long run if Claude keeps getting between him and the rest of the team, but Claude like Olli and he wants to protect him. He doesn’t want him to be part of this shit show. He doesn’t want Olli to end up getting the “dirty player” label. 

“Don’t.”

“But-“

“Crosby isn’t thinking straight, he’s angry, he’s thinking about the team, not this game. We can still win this game. You’re not here to get revenge. You’re here to stop them from scoring, so do your job.”

Olli bites down on his mouth guard with a mutinous look.

“I’m just saying you don’t have to follow Crosby into the penalty box. Look at St. Louis, look how he’s using this to motivate his team. We haven’t taken a shot in five minutes. If you go out there and start throwing dirty hits, focusing more on hurting them then stopping them, we might as well go home now.”

Olli gets tapped in and Claude has no idea what he’s going to do. 

It’s going pretty well at first. Claude almost feels proud, like he did something good. Olli is playing so well, he blocks a shot and clears the puck into the neutral zone, and he’s doing it without high sticks or loose elbows. Claude, of course, is looking away whenever it happens, but the next thing he knows the crowds roaring and Olli’s dropped the gloves. The Lightning player doesn’t, just smirks and skates away. The Lightning get a five minute power play. They score twice. There’s still three minutes left but with no one playing the way they should it’s already over.

The locker room is tense and quiet. Crosby is fuming and everyone else seems on edge until they start trickling out one by one. 

Crosby stops him in the hall, “Did you put him up to this?”

Claude has had just about enough this, “Me? Seriously? I wasn’t acting like a spoiled child out there.”

“You talked to him and the next thing, he’s dropping gloves and costing us the game.”

“No, you cost us the game. He was just following your example.”

“I wasn’t fighting! I wouldn’t-”

“No, you were throwing a temper tantrum like you always do when someone you like gets hurt.”

“I don’t-“

“Yeah, you do, and everybody knows about it.” Claude took a deep breathe, trying to calm down. “Look, I’m not saying Kucherov meant to hurt Kunitz, I really think that was just bad luck this time, but-”

“This time?”

“We all know how you are, how to get to you.” Claude pauses and looks away, suddenly unable to look Crosby in the eye anymore, “I’ve done it, on purpose. I’ve gone after someone I knew was injured or that you were obviously worried about because I knew I could mess you up and if you were messed up, Malkin would be too, and half the time Orpik would be just as pissed at us, so he wouldn’t be calming anyone down either. You guys just fall apart, focusing on us instead of the puck and in the end we win and you look like the bad guys even though we were ones who were playing dirty.”

“You, I, You.” Crosby starts and Claude is not really sure what he’s planning to say to this confession. Nothing, it turns out. He snaps his mouth shut and punches Claude in the stomach. Claude collapses into Crosby, who pushes him off and storms away. Claude slides down wall wheezing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got another chapter done. That only took forever, sorry. Thanks to the wonderful Kenarik and Sumariajane who betaed this so I wouldn't look like an idiot :) they are the best.

Crosby seems upset at the next practice. His shoulders are tight and even Malkin’s gentle ribbing doesn’t seem to loosen him up. Crosby isn’t ever looking when Claude glances over but he still feels like he’s being glared at. No one else seems to notice anything so maybe Claude’s imagining things. He’s half dressed when Bylsma taps him on the shoulder.

“Can I see you in my office for a minute.”

Claude’s first instinct is to say “It’s not my fault” or possibly “I didn’t do it” except that doesn’t make sense because he actually hasn’t done anything wrong recently. It’s possible Crosby told Bylsma about the Flyers strategy, but Claude doesn’t think he can be in trouble for things the Flyers do. Claude takes a second to pull his shirt on and tell himself everything is going to be ok, before walking across the locker room.

“Come in,” Bylsma’s gestures with a stack of papers in his hand.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just wanted to give you a heads up, we’re going to be trying you out on Sid’s line today, so play nice?”

“Um, I don’t, we don’t really uh get along, I mean I think we don’t have good chemistry.”

Bylsma lips tilted up in a wry smile, “I am actually aware of your off-ice difference, you know. We knew it might awkward when we decided to trade for you but, we were really hoping you guys might work things out. I want you here Claude, I think you’re a great player and great guy. I know these past few months haven’t been easy for you, but I think if you give us a chance you could be really happy here.”

“Ok,” Claude nodded not really sure what to say to that. “If that’s it, I’ll see you when practice starts.”

Bylsma nodded, looking back at his papers before pausing and looking up again, “Claude, you know, if still aren’t happy when the season ends, we can talk about moving you somewhere else. There are plenty of clubs that would love to have you and I promise we’ll find you somewhere you’ll do well.”

“I…thanks, Coach”

“No problem, see you on the ice.”

\--

It actually kind of works. Crosby’s ‘playing badly’ is everyone else’s pretty good day, so there’s that, and Claude can kind of get a feel for where he is on the ice, if only because the tension still strung between them. So well it’s not good exactly, it does work. Bylsma switches things up a bit, tries out a few other combinations, but Claude doesn’t really click with anyone else right off and Crosby isn’t noticeable better on any of the other lines with the exception of Malkin and Neal. They’re kind of beautiful to watch together. The only problem is it combines the first and second line and takes Malkin out of center.

Claude is next best center they have, but he and Dupuis can’t seem to click without Crosby between them and though it’s a little easier to keep track of Jokinen, it’s not completely fluid. They could learn, it doesn’t work yet but it feels like it might have potential. Dupuis is pretty amazing on wing and Claude wants to be a good center for him, but they aren’t use to him yet. If it was earlier in the season it might be worth it, but right now they just need a bandage while Kunitz is out.

In the end they decide to go with Claude/Crosby/Dupuis. It doesn’t rock the boat too much, keeps the offensive strategy pretty much the same. The coaches are little concerned about having such a small line, but both Crosby and Claude have proven they can be physical players when it counts so no one’s too worried.

In games it’s better, playing with a guy like Crosby can’t be bad. He’s the sort of player who makes everyone around him better. Claude has to give everything he has just to keep up, and Crosby is always just there, making sure no one falls behind. He’s hasn’t played so well, probably ever. They shutout Buffalo, stomp the Caps, and crush the Jackets. The media starts buzzing around them: the surprising combination of Crosby and Giroux taking the east coast by storm.

They play the Flyers next. It’s the first time Claude will be facing his old team, the team he captained, the team he sometimes still feels like he belongs to. He wonders briefly if it’s like this for everyone after they get traded, if everyone pushes down the creeping fear of passing to wrong person. 

Playing against the Pens was always brutal so it makes sense that playing against the Flyers is too. Claude collapses onto the bench next to Crosby panting and chugging gatorade as soon as he can swallow. Crosby sits next to him gulping down air, face red with exertion but still watching the game, eyes darting around the ice with the same intensity as he would if he were still out there. Claude looks up just in time to see Hartsy crush Neal against the board and skate off taking the puck down to the Pens zone. It takes Neal a few seconds to get off the ice, rotating his shoulder as he skates towards the action. It’s barely a half a minute before Neal is back on the boards. Crosby grip on his stick tightens.

After the third hit Crosby turns to him, “They’re doing this on purpose.”

Claude nods.

“I’ll fucking kill them.”

“No,” Claude shook his head, “that’s the point.”

“But—I can’t just do nothing.”

Claude bites his lip before reply, “Let me.”

Crosby’s head snapped to Claude, “what?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Crosby stares at Claude for a moment searching for something, “Ok, if you don’t…”

He doesn’t finish, Claude doesn’t need him to. He gets it, if he doesn’t take care of it Crosby will.

Technically Crosby should be the one facing off against Hartsy on this play, but it doesn’t really matter and no one mentions it when Claude skates to the center.

“Come to save my poor wrists?” Hartsy grins when Claude crouches down in front of him.

“He’s not slashing your wrists, we aren’t losing yet” Claude can’t quite fight down a smile, easily falling into the habit of chirping Crosby, but stops when he remembers why he’s here. “You need to lay off Neal.”

Hartsy gives a skeptical look, “Seriously, you’re here for Neal? ‘oops your face hit my elbow’ Neal?”

“Yeah,”

“He’s an asshole and a cheater.”

Claude shrugs, “He’s my teammate.”

“Yeah, you really think he would do the same for you?” Hartsy sneers, and Claude suddenly knows how this will go, what he’s about to offer up for Neal. He hesitates a second, it’s fucking Neal, Claude doesn’t even really like the guy. But, he isn’t a Flyer anymore, he probably never will be again. He has to move on and he might as well start here.

Claude doesn’t know the answer to Hartsy’s question but at the moment he actually hoping it’s no. He knows Hartsy though, knows he won’t let it lie. He’s counting on it.

“Sure, like I said we’re teammates.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Hartsy gets the puck and Claude gets a shoulder in his chest. The pads absorb most of the force but it still knocks him back a few inches. It’s just the first blow, Hartnell is persistent, seemingly always right there as soon as Claude touches the ice. His hasn’t spent this much time pressed against the boards in ages. So what happens next is pretty stupid on Claude’s part. His chasing the puck towards the Flyer’s zone—head down like a fucking rookie. He doesn’t see Coots coming, doesn’t see the hit that sweeps him off his feet.

The next thing he is aware of is Coots over him, “Be ok, be ok, be ok, shit, shit”

“Hey, come on, the medics need to look at him”

“I didn’t mean—“

“Hey, my names Aaron, how are you feeling?”

Claude blinks at head that floats into his field of view.

“Yeah, I thought so. I’m gonna ask you some questions ok, I need to answer me honestly. We’re gonna start simple, can you move your toes?”

Claude blinks again before understanding the question and flexing his toes feeling them knock the top his skate. He starts nod, but Aaron stops him. “Just say yes or no for right now ok?”

“Yeah,”

“How about your fingers?”

“Yeah”

“Do you have any pain or stiffness around your neck or back?”

“Not really.”

“Ok, let’s try sitting up,” Aaron said sliding a hand under Claude’s shoulders. He gets up, all the way eventually, skating off the ice with just a guiding hand from Aaron.

He tries to sit on the bench, “Nope, come on going to the back.”

“I’m ok,”

“Maybe, but I want to check you out anyway, ok?”

Claude was planning to insist he was fine, he really was, but somehow he was ended up in a training room in the back before he put anything together.

“Ok, I’m gonna ask you some questions now. Can you tell me your name?” Aaron asks as he shines a penlight in Claude’s face.

“Claude”

“Good, do you know where you are?”

“Wells Fargo”

“Good, do you remember what happened to you?”

“I got hit.”

“Good enough. Do you remember my name?”

“Aaron?”

“Yep, are you feeling nauseous? Headache? Sleepy?”

“No, none of that.”

“Good, that’s really good.”

“So I can go back out?”

“Sorry man, you lost consciousness for a few second out there, ‘fraid I can’t let you play anymore tonight.”

“But I answered all your questions.”

“Yeah, and that was a big relief, you’re probably gonna be fine but you definitely hurt your head and we don’t want to risk a secondary impact injury.”

“But I feel fine,”

“And maybe last year that would have been good enough, but this year 200 hockey players sued the league over head injuries, so this year when you lose consciousness on the ice you don’t get to go back out. You can stay in here or wait in the locker room.” Aaron pats his leg before walking out.

Claude stays in his chair for a minute before deciding he might as well get changed if he out for the rest of the night when Crosby slams the door open.

“That isn’t what I meant.” He spits out jaw twitching.

“It isn’t actually what I meant either?” Claude offers which seems to mollify Crosby slightly, his shoulder drop a little.

“Do you have a concussion?” Crosby asks hesitantly but with much less anger.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so?”

“Ok.” Crosby nods, “Are you…do you need anything?”

Claude shakes his head, “I’m fine, I’m just going to change and I guess watch from the locker room.”

Crosby nods again and awkwardly shifts from one skate to the other, “Right, um, that’s good. I’ll um, I’ll see you in there.” He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, but closes it again and walks off, waddling a little on his skates.

\--

Claude’s plan to get back to locker room and change hits a slight hiccup when he realizes he doesn’t have shoes, so his choices are to either put his skates back on or walk barefoot. Putting the skates on is probably better for his feet, but barefoot is definitely better for his skates. But skates are heavy and his feet are still swollen from playing hockey. He’s about suck it up and put the skates back on when there is a knock at the door. Neal is there, leaning against the door jam, with Claude’s sandals hanging from his fingers.

“Thought you might want these,” he holds up shoes with a wry smile.

“They, uh, they might help, yeah,” Claude nods.

Neals’ grin broadens and he tosses the shoes to Claude one at a time.

“So, uh, thanks, you know for out there.” Neal says as Claude slides into the sandals.

Claude shrugs, suddenly feeling awkward again. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles.

“Nah, it was cool of you, since, you know, you’re a rental and all. Not a lot of guys would do that.”

“It seemed like the thing to do.”

“Yeah, well thanks,” Neal claps Claude on the shoulder as he walks past. “Man, it’s too bad you missed the fight.”

“Fight?” Claude pauses

“Yeah,” Neal looks back over his shoulder, but doesn’t stop walking “Sid was totally wailing on Hartnell. It was wild.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ,


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapter! Thanks to Kenarik and Sumariajane for betaing for me.

Chapter 4

They win, barely. Claude tries to watch the rest of the game from the locker room but it’s such a mess he eventually turns it off. It’s like everyone forgot how to play hockey, pass are being dropped shots are going wide, and no one can seem to hold on to the puck for three seconds. He sits in silence for a minute before turning the tv back on. On screen Marty and Sims are shoving each other but a linesman pushes them apart before gloves came off. The third period winds down eventually with no goals and plenty of penalties.

The room is quiet and tense like their coming off a bad loss instead of win. People drawing into themselves dark and cloudy, Bylsma comes in to tell them the bus will be leaving in 30 min but they don’t get any speeches about being better. Claude briefly considers going to the Flyer’s room well the rest of his team changes but it feel like that would be wrong, somehow. He didn’t think twice about leaving them to hang with Loops when they played Toronto, but this just feels different, a little like it would be a betrayal.

Olli slides next to him hair still dripping and his dress shirt buttoned. “You’re ok, right?”

Claude smiles as reassuringly as he can, “Yeah, I’m gonna be fine.”

Olli nods, and bends his head to concentrate on doing up the buttons, but he keeps glancing over at Claude warily, which is what draws Claude attention to the fact that he isn’t the only one. All around the room people are glancing over at him, concern and curiosity written plainly across their faces, and that’s just awkward.

“I’m gonna go to the bus.” He announces, mostly to Olli, but sort of to the room at large and slips out of the visitors room and right into Hartsy who is leaning against the opposite wall, hair still wet and his dress shirt clinging to his shoulders in translucent splotches.

“You’re still here, thank god.”

“Um, hi.”

Hartsy pushes off the wall and envelopes Claude in a tight hug, “we were worried when you never came back out.”

“It’s ok, I’m ok. I promise,” Claude pats Hartsy arm as he slowly extracts himself.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to actually hurt you.”

“I’m really fine, and it wasn’t your fault.”

Hartsy gave Claude a familiarly patronizing look, “yeah it kind of was.”

“Well maybe a little.”

“Hey,” Hartsy grinned punching Claude lightly in the arm.

“I thought you were going to the bus?” Olli interrupts with a dark look in Hartsy direction.

“Oh yeah, I’ll meet you out there in a second.”

Olli glares for a second more before turning on his heels and stalking down the corridor.

“Got yourself a baby rookie already?” Hartsy laughs

“He’s a good a kid, really.”

“I bet, I didn’t mean it like that anyways. I—we were worried. You seemed so down all the time, I thought you weren’t getting along in Pittsburgh, but I’m glad I was wrong. I’m glad you’re finding a spot with them.”

Claude is taken aback by that. He still doesn’t feel like a Pen, he doesn’t feel like he belongs, but Scuds sits with him on planes and Olli stays late with him to practice, Nealer brought him shoes, and Crosby….

“Did Crosby really get in a fight for me?”

“Dude, I’m the one who’s going to have the black eye from that and even I can barely believe it,” Hartsy laughs. “He was really pissed too.”

The click of the locker room door sounds again, reminding Claude of where he is. “I should probably…”

“Yeah, I should probably disappear before Malkin decides to have a go at me too.”

“I miss you guys,” Claude blurts out.

“We miss you too,” Hartsy pulls Claude into another hug.

\--

The road trip ends in LA, which is a blessing and curse. The warm weather is a welcome break from the weeks of snow and ice, and while the Kings aren’t exactly an easy team to play against they are an easy win. They do, however, tend to leave their opponents aching and bruised.

Claude is so preoccupied trying to decide if his shoulder hurts enough to see a trainer that he doesn’t notice the commotion near the door until someone’s kicking his foot.

“Hey, kid. You look like shit.”

“Mike?” Claude blinks a few times half expecting him to be some sort of late onset concussion hallucination. “What are you doing here?”

“Come on, we’re taking you out,” Mike kicks at Claude’s foot again, smirking and completely ignoring the death glare Crosby was leveling at them.

“What?”

“Up, Jeff is waiting.” Mike pauses and then looking sideways at Scuderi in the next stall adds, “Scudsy here can come too I guess.”

Scuds flips Mike off, but he’s smiling.

“I’m not dressed yet,” Claude protests.

“Well, hurry up,” Mike crosses his arms and gives Claude an impatient look. Claude would like to point out that Mike is not his captain anymore. Mike is the one who barged into the visitor’s locker room and started making demands, so he can just be patient, but in the end he doesn’t say any of that, just pulls on a shirt and lets Mike throw an arm over his shoulders as they walk out of the room.

“You coming or not Scuds?” Mike calls over his shoulder

“Nah, I’ve got better offers.”

\--

They meet Jeff in the parking lot, he’s leaning against a sleek black car tossing the keys up and catching them.

“I’ll drive,” Mike offers holding out his hand. Jeff reaches out to drop the keys, but pulls back at the last minute.

“Why?”

“Come on, you hate driving downtown after a game.”

“Yeah, but so do you and it’s my turn.”

Mike sighs and pulls the keys from Jeff hand, “just get in the car.”

Jeff looks like he wants to argue more, but Mike is already pushing him out the way and climbing into the driver’s seat. Claude can sympathize, having just been the victim of Mike’s personality. He’s seen people refuse Mike things before, so he knows it’s possible but he figures you have to be pretty determined so there’s probably no help for poor suckers like Jeff and him.

The conversation in the car is easy, just idle catching up. Jeff tells Claude about the Olympics briefly, since both Claude and Mike missed out and since Canada came in third it isn’t too painful to hear about. It helps ease the sting of being left out that Claude can think “they could have been better if they had taken me.”

That was probably Mike’s plan, keep Jeff distracted enough that they’re pulling into to a multilevel parking garage before Jeff apparently realizes where they are.

“No. Come on, Mike, you’re not funny,” Jeff whines

“Who’s trying to be funny? It’s Thursday, we always go to this bar on Thursdays.” Mike pulls his best innocent face.

“Yeah, but that’s cause, you know…”

“What? You don’t want to introduce Claude to your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Jeff says with a tone that implies he’s made this claim many times before and turns back to look at Claude repeating, “he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh, right and why is that again?” Mike asks pulling into a spot and turning the car off.

“Reasons,” Jeff glares out the window.

“No, I think there was just one, what was it? Oh right, you’re being a pussy.”

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry, not interested, but you know who is? Nick is, and lucky for you we know exactly where he is on Thursday nights between 4 and 12. So stop sulking and let’s go.”

“I hate you.” Jeff sighs as he slides out of the car.

\--

The bar is pretty nice, not too dark or loud with muted TVs showing a Clippers game. Mike pulls Claude over to a table along the wall while Jeff heads to the bar. Claude figures the mysterious Nick is the bartender considering the way he smiles when he see Jeff leaning against the bar. 

“So it might be a minute before we see our drinks,” Mike concedes. 

Claude shrugs, “It’s fine, Jeff seems good?” He doesn’t mean it be a question exactly, but he and Jeff never were very close and after everything that happened before the trade, they didn’t really keep in touch.

Mike looks over at where Jeff his ducking his head and undoubtedly blushing and probably-Nick is biting his lip and leaning closer with a thousand watt smile. “Yeah, he is.”

They sit in silence for a moment watching the Heat wipe the floor with the Clippers before Mike continues. “It’s good here, most of the team knows about him, and it’s good. It’s not like last time.”

“Ok,” Claude finds himself suddenly very interested in wood grains of the table. He doesn’t really know where Mike is going with this. Jeff Carter is basically a taboo topic with Flyers, no one talks about the situation in which he left. They sort of all pretend that it’s because of the new guys who don’t know, and respect for Jeff’s privacy, but mostly it’s because it was a mess and everyone agreed it was better for team unity to just pretend it never happened.

“I just, I want to make sure you know, it doesn’t always go that badly.”

“Yeah,” Claude picks at the side of the table. “He’s, uh, lucky to have a friend like you, you know.”

“You have me too,” Mike says and Claude is surprised enough to look up, but Mike is staring at the TV.

“What?”

“If you, I mean, for any reason, but you know if you want to-“ Mike’s eyes flicker over to Jeff and it’s pretty clear what he’s indicating, “anyways, I’ll be there.”

Claude heart might have actually stopped. Mike can’t know, not for sure. Claude’s never told anyone, never done anything with someone who would know to tell. He’s learned Jeff’s lesson: don’t fuck around where people might find you. There’s no way Mike knows, he can deny it. He should. But no one’s ever asked either, not that directly, and he’s never actually had to lie about it, always getting by on people’s assumptions. He doesn’t really want to start, and well, it’s Mike. Claude knows he’s good for it, he watched Mike tear apart their locker room for Jeff. He didn’t think he rated that high for Mike, and maybe he doesn’t, not destroy my team’s chances at the cup high anyways.

“I-thanks, I guess” Ok, it’s not exactly a confession, but it’s not a denial and that’s a lot more than Claude was planning on tonight. He’s saved from what is quickly becoming an awkward feelings talk by Jeff showing up with three beers.

Mike grins clearly just a relieved “Did you stop being a pussy?”

“Shut up,” Jeff rolls his eyes and tosses a piece of paper at Mike’s head.

Mike catches it as it bounces off his cheek, “what’s this?”

“His number,” Jeff beams.

Mike laughs. “About fucking time,” he says clinking his glass against Jeff’s before taking a long swallow.

Claude clinks his glass too, and after that the evening kind of blurs into beer and shots and hockey and basketball. Claude wasn’t actually intending to drink that much, but he forgot what drinking with Carts and Richie was like and why he didn’t do it often. By the time they leave the bar, long past the curfew the Pens management likes to suggest, Claude is staggering and giggling, and completely wasted.

“Come on, time to get you home,” Mike slips an arm under Claude directing him back the car. “Where are you guys staying?”

“The hotel,” Claude seriously informs Mike.

“Yeah, I know, which one?”

“The pretty one.”

“The pretty one?”

“Yes, the pretty one, not the ugly one.”

“Thanks you G, that was very helpful.” Mike replies over the sound of Jeff cracking up behind them.

“Jeff, make yourself useful, call Sid and ask him where they’re staying.”

“Fuck no.”

“Dude, what’s your problem.”

“Uh, I have a date I’d like to be alive for.”

“Don’t be a drama queen.”

“Don’t be stupid. Sid’s going to kill us, you specifically because I’m totally telling him this entire night was your idea.”

“He’s not going to kill us.”

“No just you. Shall I go over your offenses? Let’s work backwards, you’re planning on interrupting Sid’s precious sleep, you got one of his teammates drunk in strange city and kept him out long past his bedtime, you interrupted whatever end of road trip bonding thing they might have planned, oh yeah and you invaded the sacred locker room space. Sid’s going to kill you and they won’t find enough pieces to identify your body.”

“Sid’s not going to kill me, he can’t play hockey in jail,” Mike props Claude against the car door and digs through his pockets for the keys. The car opens with a beep that sets Claude giggling again. “Fine, get him in the car,” Mike gestures to Claude. “I’ll call Sid.”

“Alright buddy, let’s go.” Jeff opens the door next to Claude and he sort of gracelessly falls onto the seat and starts sliding down.

“Hey Sid, sorry for waking you,” Mike says into his phone, “oh I didn’t, awesome.”

“Woah, ok, let’s not end up on the floor here,” Jeff catches Claude halfway down heaving him to the car. Claude nods seriously, attempting to help but ends up just smacking Jeff in the face.

“—‘mm sorry,”

“Don’t be, if you’d been like this in Philly we probably would have hung out more,” Jeff smiles, ruffling Claude hair after he gets him the rest of the way into the backseat.

“Sorry ‘bout Philly too,”

“Eh, it worked out pretty well in the end.”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Claude insists, pulling on Jeff’s shirt.

“It’s cool, ok, I promise,” Jeff pats Claude on the shoulder.

“You’re not mad?”

“No I-“ Jeff starts but Mike’s voice cuts through suddenly cold, “Ok first, that’s none of your business, and you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jeff leans back but Claude’s fingers are still tangled in his shirt and he doesn’t get more than a few inches. “G, let go ok, I need see if Mike’s ok.”

“But-“

“We’re good, I’m not mad anymore, I promise,” Jeff reassures Claude, pulling his fingers open. The door closes behind him and Claude can’t hear Mike anymore.

\--

Claude doesn’t remember the drive back to the hotel or getting in his room or who set his alarm clock. He wakes up hung over, his stomach queasy and a dull persistent ache in his head. He drowses on the bus to the airport and sleeps on the plane avoiding everyone as he catalogs his regrets from the night before and vows for the second time not to ever drink with Mike again.

When they finally arrive in Pittsburgh that evening all he want to do is climb into his hotel bed and sleep for the next eternity, but Scuds stops him, pulling him aside as everyone else trudges to their cars.

“Is what Sid saying last night true?”

Claude blinks, not really sure what they’re talking about it, “is what true?”

“Are you the one who told people about Mike and Jeff, about dry island?”

Oh, fuck.


	5. Chapter 5

Claude hesitates, caught between lying his ass off and desperate justifications. He takes a minute too long, because Scuds nods, “right, ok,” and steps away.

“Wait,” Claude reaches out but doesn’t actually touch Scuderi, letting his hand fall back. He wants to explain, but he knows that won’t work if Scuderi doesn’t want to hear it, besides there are more pressing matters. “Does everyone know?”

“No,” Scuderi answers still not looking at Claude.

“Are you going to tell them?”

Scuderi looks out at the car lot to the last of the team ducking into their cars and then back at Claude. “I don’t know.”

Claude nods, he can accept that.

“Aren’t you going to ask me not to?” Scuderi asks voice dripping in scorn.

“Would it change your mind?”

“It might.”

“Please,” Claude tries to sound as sincere as possible, “don’t tell anyone.”

Scuderi shakes his head, his jaw working, “You know, Mike really cares about you. Hell, he’s the one who asked me to make sure you were doing ok. How could you do something like this to him?”

There’s a lot in that sentence that Claude is not going to touch with a ten-foot pole. It doesn’t matter anyways, he reminds himself. This moment matters, how he navigates this conversation is what matters.

“I--”

“You know, I don’t even care right now.” Scuderi sends Claude one last derisive look before turning around and walking away. Ok, so much for this moment, this moment can go fuck itself, Claude lets out a muffled scream and kicks the side of the building. 

\--

Claude waits, it twists in his stomach and runs through his veins making him twitchy and anxious and every time someone says his name he’s sure this is going to be it, the moment it all comes out. Except that it never is. The worst part is that there isn’t anything Claude can do. Scuds will either tell everyone or he won’t and Claude can’t control that, can’t predict it. He can’t even explain why he did it,, because it’s all wrapped up in Jeff and their last year in Philly and if Scuderi doesn’t already know, it’s not Claude’s right to say.

Nothing happens, and nothing happens, and nothing happens and then suddenly it’s their last game before the playoffs. Thank fuck that the Pens had locked that shit down ages ago because Claude’s been kind of a hot mess with this hovering over him and he’s back to failing to make meaningful contributions. It’s bad when you’re on the third line and worse when you’re on the first. 

Crosby takes him aside after a morning skate, leads him into one of the lesser used training rooms. “I talked to Scuds, he won’t tell anyone about what he heard, so just focus on playing.”

Claude nods. He knows he should say thank you, he’s planning to actually, but what comes out instead is “why?”

Crosby blinks “You were distracted, and the playoffs are right around the corner, we need you focused.”

“No, I mean, you knew? All this time and you never said anything to anyone, why?”

“You never did anything to make me,” Crosby shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and maybe it is. Maybe for Crosby that’s how it works, the past isn’t gone or forgotten but it’s politely left alone unless it needs to be dealt with.

“Hey, there you guys are, 245 in half an hour, you are not skipping out this time Sid.” Neal leans through the doorway, without a care about what he might be interrupting.

“It was one time.” Crosby rolls his eyes.

“Please, you know you’d duck out to watch game footage if we didn’t make you come.” Neal teases affectionately

“Would not,” Crosby denies.

“Yeah--huh, anyways be there or be square.”

“Be where?” Claude finally ventures to asks.

“Oh, right you don’t know. Tavern 245, it’s about six or so blocks from here, anyways Sid will show you,” Neal grins, “it’ll guarantee he shows up.”

“I had a concussion!”

“Excuses” Neal shouts back as he saunters down the hall.

Claude glances over at Crosby, unsure of exactly what’s going on, Crosby seems to sense this at least and offers up a bit more explanation than Neal had. “It’s kind of a tradition, at the end of the season we all go to this bar, when I first got here it was just celebrating getting through another year, but we have lot more to celebrate these days.” Crosby smiles a little. “it’s fun.”

\--

It is fun, Claude hasn’t really gone out with the team much. There were a few other ‘team bonding’ dinners and events that he’d gone to because he had to, but this feels different. It feels like he’s part of the team, like if they didn’t want him here he wouldn’t be. Scuderi still won’t speak to him, but Claude feels almost optimistic. He has Sid’s backing, he can explain it to Scuds. He can win him back. Optimism is a really nice feeling, Claude hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. 

Depuis stands up on a chair, “Alright, all you fuckers listen up! Today we celebrate another great season! We played hard, we fought hard, we had some real tough breaks with injuries but we made it through, top of the division again, and it’s all thanks to you guys.” 

There’s a round of cheering after that and someone pulls Depuis off the chair. There are more drinks past around and Claude is getting pleasantly drunk on the magically appearing rounds. James leans against him loose and warm, his grin stretches wide and curls towards his teeth. “She’s been eyeing you,” he gestures with his chin towards the bar. It’s true, when Claude looks over there’s a woman leaning against the bar, bottle of Corona held loosely in her long slender fingers, the red of her fingernails standing out against the pale yellow of the beer. Her smile when she notices him looking is slow and self-assured, it doesn’t wrinkle the corner of her sharp blue eyes. 

Claude looks away, drops his eyes to the table and shrugs as he slouches farther into his seat, “Not really my type.” 

“I think she’s everyone’s type,” James laughs.

“I like...I like dark hair, and short, at least not taller then me, not so willowy, I like, I like solid.” Claude tries to describe his type without mentioning anything that might be too obviously male. 

James shrugs, “not me man, I like them blonde and beautiful.” 

“Well, she’s just over there.” Claude points out and James laughs standing unsteadily, resting a heavy hand on Claude’s shoulder.

“Wish me luck.” 

The space is only vacant for a moment, before Sid falls into James’ abandoned spot, like Claude conjured him with his description, taking a swig of James’ beer before making a face, “God James has shitty taste.” It hasn’t exactly news to Claude that Sidney is exactly his type, but he’s trying not to be stupid for once. He’s had feeling for his teammates before, a stupid rookie crush on Mike and a stupider slow fall into Danny. There is no future in those thoughts.

“I thought she was into you?” Sid asks as he picks through the empty bottle littering the table. 

“Not my type,” Claude repeats. 

Sid just nods in response as he takes a long pull from an unfinished bottle left on the table. He leans back once he’s killed the bottle, eyeing Claude appraisingly. “You’re not what I thought you were..” 

“Uh...thanks?” Claude starts but Sid is already getting up and saying something about another round. He gets waylaid by Geno on his way and pushed down onto the booth next to Flower, who throws an arm across Sid’s shoulders and nudges another bottle into his hands. Sid is still there hours later, much drunker, his head lulling onto Flower’s shoulder while in quite Flower and Tanger softly debate Quebec sovereignty. 

_“Claude,” ,_ Fluery pulls him down as he passes by, “ _wouldn't you agree that partial sovereignty is pointless, either we remain in Canada or we separate completely?”_

_“Why do you even want to separate?" Letang argues back. "What would we do if Quebec did gain sovereignty? What would be the plan for the economy? the government? What about people whose families live in other parts of Canada?”_ he looks expectantly at Claude.

Flower looks expectantly at Claude and all Claude can do is shrug, _“I’m from Ontario.”_

Sid snorts into Flower shoulder.


End file.
